


All that Implies

by avidvampirehunter



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Empress Rey, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss of Virginity, More chapters, Post-TLJ, Rated E for Everything is Sin, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-29 08:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidvampirehunter/pseuds/avidvampirehunter
Summary: She took his hand. She stands beside him. Surely that meant something more, surely that leaves certain implications—justifies the way he could never stop wanting her.





	1. Monsters and Men

**Author's Note:**

> I got my hands on the novelization. Someone should probably take it away from me, because apparently our soft-boi movie Kylo is nothing compared to the hard-boiled egg in these books.
> 
> So this is technically my first explicit smut. (A hat-tip to all of you who know my UlquiHime work from fanfiction.net)
> 
> Is it perverted for me to tell you to enjoy? Ah, whatever. I don't mind. Have fun with these cute space virgins~

Men and monsters are all the same.

He does not move, lost in the endless expanse of what is his. And hers.

She’d bartered with him. In her mind, he saw, that she would do all she knew how. A haggler, easily disheartened yet full of hope nonetheless, sought hope in his hand with a strange sentiment. There was no desire for power in her slender fingers, no resistance in the strong sinews stretched over the leather of his glove. Perhaps he would have removed it, but her demands were forthcoming.

Ah, she would. Even trades. Work, payment. A simple thing—allowing the Resistance to flee. To escape. They would die off, peter aimlessly without their numbers. The past indeed would die, and, at Rey’s contention, slowly.

Kylo Ren is a man of action. A singular focus, a burning goal honing in with monstrous power. It’s all he knows how to be; drenched in sopping darkness, dripping ink upon an invisible contract of his soul, sold to her like a man to the devil.

And she _is_ devious. One taste of power, a lick on the salted cube of unquestionable loyalty, has her striding through the halls like she built them. She knows every inch of the hull, now. The dark consoles of his ship. He watches her as a man might watch a guest in his home, their curiosity spreading tendrils of pride and excitement in his chest.

When she took his hand… oh, there was something _new_. A sensation, a hidden truth, burning under his skin. The infallible desire to expose _hers_.

* * *

Barely a month has passed, and their numbers are growing.

His general is displeased by this, but his empress finds no concern. Kylo’s rage only grows, the memory of past wrongs, the yearning to wash them away in a flood of mighty fire consuming him in moments.

But she comes near, feeling as he feels, and braces a hand on his arm. The winds die in his whipping sails, the calm breeze of her impossible presence making him tepid with balance. They know but need not speak beyond the hushed whispers in passing visions. They know that this is meant, destined, _willed_ by something greater.

She knows it makes him weak.

* * *

He wants to destroy them. To wipe away the past, to erase them from his history and grind them all into dust beneath his boots. The anger balls in his throat, bobbing and blocking breath until there is only rage.

Alone in his quarters, he thinks not of anything beyond it. Not the Force, or who it connects him to. He feels it sink, drain out through a grate he’s never noticed before. When alone, the anger would only circle back, the darkness feeding itself on his flesh. His heart, his soul, his mind, and everything between. Torment, chosen for himself, embraced in the night where shadows were the only ones who would call him their own.

But he is not alone.

He turns to find her, caught in his internal storm like a child mid-tantrum. But she does not look at him the way he’d thought she would. The way his family had. Their whispers beyond doors, traitorous thoughts and tarnished hopes. The look in their eyes. Man did not exist to them, only a monster.

For Rey… he is not sure which.

They don’t move for a few moments, feeding and feeling a reflective _anger._ He realizes he spilled into her, then. That he was reckless. She is strong, but sensitive to such things. The Force is still raw in her. He knows that. He does.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, looking down. He finds her bare feet braced on the reflective onyx of his chambers, peeking out from the silken silver of her nightgown. Before her he’d never felt such a churning by a simple thing—by the bare slope of her neck and the hair clinging to its taut skin, her slight frame and strength.

He swallows.

She doesn’t answer him with pardon. She never does. It is always some call, some beckoning thing. He’s found he cannot bare to think of a life without it.

He loves her. He’s known he would since he saw her through their inexplicable connection. To Hell with Snoke—Kylo Ren sent him there for _her_. Snoke was a _liar_. A manipulator. Kylo knows that the Force would not have willed such a thing without a destiny paired with it. The Force would never have brought him to her without _this_ becoming who they are.

But he knows the misery. The man and monster she sees in his face. He cannot bear to look in her eyes, now, his rage cooled into a shame he must not feel. His sanity would not allow it. She would never let him live it down.

He does not deserve love. Not hers. He does not expect it. He will not beg her for it, no matter the weight in his knees beckoning him to kneel before her awesome power. Her sway, the beauty in her endless eyes, the smoothness of her cheeks and the defiance set permanently in her shoulders.

No. He does not deserve to love her. And yet she is _his_.

Panic runs through his veins, cold wrapping around his ribs as he realizes that thought was shared. Her brow lifts and she pauses in a step she had been taking towards him. The air is frozen, static charged. A live wire buzzing their fingertips, that secret place where their minds never part.

“Ben…” She never stopped calling him that. His old name, the one he wanted to leave behind. Perhaps that was their compromise. Their even trade. Him allowing it and her wearing a nightgown in his room, speaking to him softly, as if she cared.

A foolish sentiment.

He cannot bear this. Beneath his hair, longer now, almost wild, his ears burn. He turns away, hiding from her. Not a man. Not a monster. Something different. Something _lower._

“Go,” he whispers.

“No—”

“Go! _Leave me_ ,” he whimpers. His voice, normally deep, quiet in authority, comes like a beggar now. How dare he beg her to go, after begging her to stay? Pleading and small, here he is again. A coward.

Her steps pad across the room, closer, and he is helpless to stop her arms wrapping around his torso. They are strong as wires, warm as electrical currents, thrumming a steady beat that sears through his body and makes his heart race.

In the years between his meek body and mighty stature, no one ever dared touch him this way—unless they attempted to best him. But this is a different type of besting. This is _disassembly_. A stripping of self beyond his realm of knowledge. He suddenly feels that _churning_ , of longing within him, the ludicrous idea that she would even consider touching him this way, and all that implies.

He turns in her grasp and the next thing he knows her hands are on his face, pulling him down to meet her lips.

It is not as he’d imagined. He pictured a warm press... a steady, slow thing.

Not _this._

This is heat. This… oh, this is Rey. He senses her fear, and for one terrible instant he thinks it is of _him,_ but her fingers twine through his hair, shooting sparks along his scalp as her mind asserts the opposite.

Instinct overcomes the muscles in his arms, twitching and reaching out to grasp her and pull her flush against him by the hips. Though she doesn’t match his height, her legs bring her blissfully to meet him, soothing yet stoking a feral fire that has been growing since he saw her in that gown.

She gasps against his mouth, leaving herself open. As a man of tactics, striding forth into battle when an opening presents itself, he tests their sudden erase of that line in the sand, smoothing his tongue over her lip and into her mouth.

Her small squeak makes him grunt, self-satisfaction oozing through his thrumming veins. Ah, so she has never done this, either. Good. The less she knows, the less he will embarrass himself by knowing just as little.

Besides, _she_ is the one who initiated this maddening embrace.

He cannot bear to think of what that means now, squeezing the soft flesh hiding at her waist and sighing into her mouth, relishing as the sound sweeps against its inner walls. He feels her hands drift down to grip his shoulders, holding tight, and he can feel her drowning. Her smaller lungs have run out, he realizes, and he gives her a moment to breathe in before taking her lips once more, growling as its wetness collides against his chin.

Small noises escape her throat, his aching to trap each one spreading south. Waves crash upon him, urges that surfaced whenever he watched her train, whenever she let him spar against her, watching the sweat on her collar trail between her breasts. The sight of her beside him, the feeling of her hand in his and this sudden, inexplicable love he doesn’t deserve.

The pressure is too much. He pulls her even tighter against his body, desperate for every curve as he follows the thread of desire in her mind, placing his lips at the joint of her neck and kissing his way up. His mouth lingers open, trailing featherlight and she squirms against him. Not resistance, no. The _opposite._

“I do, Ben… I think I always…”

He pauses, hard for breath and shoulders trembling beneath her small hands. Her strength seems to have left her, migrating somewhere else he doesn’t care to follow.

His eyes widen, taking her in as she looks at him. Into him. Caressing the hard walls of his mind as her hands grip the muscles of his arms. He subconsciously flexes, that weak, immature piece of him yearning to prove his worth. The man.

But her words, her meaning, drifts through and become more than any insecurity. Resisting a victorious smile, he again buries himself in her neck, sinking lower to kiss and lick at her collar. She hisses in pleasure—he can feel it plummet through her as if it were his own—her hands somehow finding strength again. “Always what?” he prods, with words and teeth, licking a stripe up her throat that makes her shiver. His lips trail to her ear, voice low and husky in a way he’d never thought it could be. _“Say it.”_

“…loved you,” she whispers, rushed and wonderfully shy.

He can feel her vulnerability cradled in his arms and slackens his grip, only to take her chin in his fingers. He brings their eyes together, though his—now almost entirely black—linger on her wet, red mouth and the way her breath could steam the air. But then he looks into her again, into the loneliness he saw that reflected his own. It excites him. “Again. Say it again.”

She closes her parted lips stubbornly.

Ah, he sees. An even trade, then? Of course. His slip of thought, her slip of the tongue. Perhaps he is asking too much. Bartering with nothing of value.

Very well, then. If it’s a trade she wants…

“Hm,” he hums, trailing a finger down her spine. She shudders closer, eyes hooded and closing to savor his touch. Hands that razed cities, stolen breath, _invaded_ her, can apparently offer her pleasure. It’s a thought he’d rarely entertained for fear of false hopes. But now he can feel her mind fogging, her fear dwindling into want and passion. She opens her mouth again, as if ready to speak, and he follows that line of desire in her thoughts to trace the outside of her rear.

Mortification wars for the pleasant sensations bursting through her body. He can feel it bounce around in her skull. “Say it again,” he chances, less of a demand. More like encouragement. A student in need of guidance. No… that is the old way. There is no student, here. No master. Only them. Equals.

Her hands take root in his hair, her harsh tug catching him off guard as she spills him against her lips. It’s clumsy again, unpracticed yet fierce—like her. He knows she is not a woman of words, too long trapped in her own silence. She is a woman of action, mirroring him even as he sinks lower to clasp her bottom and hoist her where he can kiss her thoroughly.

She can’t name his taste. He senses it, shudders as her thoughts tumble from innocence and dive headfirst into the heat between them. She grunts, wishing he would move, and he does. In long strides crossing the quiet ground, he presses her down onto his mattress. He suppresses his regret for not doing this sooner, relieved that he finally has one large enough to fit them both. Then he realizes his carelessness, mortification rushing down his throat like sobering medicine. But she grasps him by the back of his neck, pulling him free from sanity and into the madness of her strength. Of course, she wouldn’t be daunted by something so simple. However, for the future, he resolves to treat her less garishly.

 _A promise better fulfilled now,_ he decides, tearing from her whining, needy lips and sitting back on his knees. He wets his own, looking down his cheeks to watch hers flush red, tearing off his gloves one by one. Eagerness lights fire in the hazel field of her eyes, burning, consuming him from the inside. The Force is winding tighter, pushing them closer, and he feels saintly wrapping his long fingers around her ankles, smoothing over her silken skin from calves to the sumptuous thighs hidden under her gown.

Her chest heaves at his deft, sliding touch. “Ben—”

He answers her, tipping at the waist to worship the incredibly soft flesh trembling over her breasts with the tip of his nose, his lips—inhaling the delicate scent of sun and femininity she denies. “Rey,” he sighs. No other name has ever felt so right on his tongue as hers. Perhaps he should say so. _Oh._ By the way she closes her eyes, apparently, he did. Figures. That line between words and thoughts has blurred between them. Nothing to hide.

An advantageous concept, for a position like this.

Amazing, how small she is in his hands. He squeezes her tender legs, tugging her closer. Her gown shifts, pooling at her waist to expose the thin slip of cloth between her legs.

She braces on her elbows, her chin poking into his hair as she tries to see what he’s doing. He tuts his disapproval, distracting her with a deceptively chaste kiss as he presses himself to her.

Her gasp stirs him, a heady brew of sensation, of _perfection_ following it down his throat _._ He likes the sound, the impossible warmth of her body, having always been within his reach, finally in his grasp. He offers a probing grind, feeling her veins alight and ripple with the current surging through her. It spreads in him as well, a similar feeling of burning fire. A simmer coming to a boil.

Kylo breaks their kiss to realize that he is smiling. When she notices, she doesn’t know what to do. He sends back that he doesn’t either, beyond the way they meet at the waist and he can still look into her eyes. She can feel it too—the purpose behind this sudden entanglement, the inevitability of it all.

Perhaps that’s why she lies back against the pillow, succumbing as he brushes himself against her. So many layers rest between them, his fingers twitch to rip them apart, but this is unfamiliar territory. Time must be taken. He’s harder than stone and sets his focus to finding her against him there.

Different postures send different sparks under her skin, he finds, like computer codes. A complex system, a sensitive, live wire she is. Rey. Oh, _Rey,_ he can feel himself slipping. When she cries out against a rough stroke of his hips, he pauses. Ah, this one shot down her legs. He can feel their heat, though she feels cold, and brushes there once more.

Rey quakes, eyes opening like blast doors as she holds onto him, urging him on, on, on, _harder._ His eye twitches as her thoughts growl through his mind, roaring like an animal, hissing in heat. He does as she wishes, until it’s not enough for her anymore.

She tugs at the high collar of his tunic. Ah, yes, it certainly is hot in here. And she was so distracted by him last time she saw him like this. How could he resist seeing her flushed face scour him with her probing gaze? Her exploring fingers wandering over his skin?

He tears himself away again, scrambling to stand at the edge of the bed. She follows, standing on her knees with waiting lips and mussed hair. He doesn’t break with her eyes as he strips, exposing his chest to her open, hungry gaze. It shakes him to the core, pausing his hands on the high waist of his trousers. To hell with them, he wants _this._

His fantasies become fact under her searing eyes. She looks him over, shoulder to shoulder, every muscle and small mark and ugly scar that tarnishes the marble of his body. She thinks he looks strong, that he could protect her, that she wants his arms to _hold_ her.

“Anything for my empress,” he murmurs, catching her lips the way he caught her thoughts, wrapping his arms around her in a firm embrace.She balks at the title, but he can sense that piece of her accepting his words of praise. Perhaps she knew from the beginning that they would be here, but hid the truth away.

They are not so different. He doubted she would love him, would simply allow the monster inside claw eternally at his weakness and torturous longing. But…

Her hands, once so rough, are gentle. He can feel her probing his mind for what he wants, for what he likes, and he relaxes to her ministrations. She finds the shell of his ear, hidden under his hair, and realizes by the way he trembles that this spot holds more potential than hearing.

She kisses his jaw, up and up along his cheek, holding his face down. He feels like a bowing servant, caught in his mistress’s mercy. Her mouth finds his ear and she kisses him there, over each damp, inky strand. When had he begun to sweat? But she stays anyway, lips tickling his skin as she whispers, “I love you. I know I do. Even if you don’t love me…”

Shock plummets through his chest. She thinks…? “That’s not true,” he protests, sharp yet quiet, malice lost to a tenderness long forgotten. He pulls away, smoothing her forehead free from intrusive hairs. His eyes find hers, holding them seriously as they hold one another close, fingers on cheeks and eyes burning with the weight of this one moment. Passion simmers low, replaced by something else. “Rey, I… I don’t think I know how. But that won’t stop me.”

She smiles the kind of smile that hides pain, nodding as a tear betrays her. He catches it on his thumb, taking it from her. If he could take away each one, each bitter and broken tear shed every desperate, sleepless night, he would. She knows he would. She knows she could teach him—wants to try.

“Nothing stops you,” she laughs, soft and wistful.

“Nothing but you,” he agrees, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, kissing her tenderly. Oh, what an impossible thing. To hold her like this, to feel his heart intertwining with another’s. It’s beyond what he ever imagined. He knocks on her mind again and she opens to him, letting him see what she wants.

“Touch me,” she commands, more like begging.

He can feel her trepidation die as he kisses along her neck towards her shoulder, pulling down both thin straps and letting his thumbs brush against their velvet ridges. Yet still, he asks, “Where?”

Rey bites her lip, hand reaching up to brace a single finger over her slight cleavage. He’d been hoping to avoid this temptation, his boyish desire to see her breasts. If he’s not careful, he may only touch her there. At least, that was his fear.

But as his cock jumps painfully, trapped in his trousers, he knows that won’t be likely at all.

He obeys her, replacing her finger with his own and trailing south until her nightgown is hooked on his hand. He tugs, pulling down the generous cloth until her breasts spring free.

His eyes widen, lids rising and falling in a flicker of disbelief from the overwhelming, _perfect_ gift. A rush of desire races through him from the sight of her, crushing his heart in his chest and sending all blood far from coherent thought. Faintly, he can feel her worry over their size. He wants to scold her for such a ridiculous thought, but has a different idea.

He grips her by her ribs, easing her back down upon the covers as he teases the soft flesh beneath her twin arousal. She’s pebbled and pink, as perfect as her parted lips. He can see the shine of her spit on her teeth and growls, leaning in to taste it before enveloping all of her in his palms.

She whimpers in his mouth at the sudden contact, but as he rolls her in his hands, the warmth spreads through until she’s left moaning, stirring restlessly beneath him, not knowing what to do with herself.

He rather likes seeing her so helpless, and decides not to offer any advice as he focuses on the weight of her in his hands. She fits so well, the small points of her nipples brushing stiff against the sensitive inset of his palm. And so _soft,_ combating his hard edges and soothing the feral yearning of the man inside him. There is no room for a monster, here.

When her hips rise, seeking him on instinct, he realizes his negligence. He can feel her blood pulsing faster, sense the way she needs _more._

Berating himself, he lowers his lips back to her neck, tugging her nightgown lower. She helps him with a lift of her hips and legs, and he tosses the cloth over his shoulder and lets it float to the floor. She sighs as he trails lower, licking languidly where she wants and kissing everywhere else. He pulls her leg over his waist, pressing himself against her again as he takes one of her breasts into his mouth.

Rey cries out, yearning met with a wall of new sensation. She grabs his hair and tugs—not to pull him away, but to feel him struggle to latch on. He moans, the sound rippling through her risen flesh and only encouraging him more. He laves her, careful not to bite, relishing the sensation of her in his mouth. It’s like a new way of kissing her, the way her beautiful breast undulates with every breath, her arousal dancing with his tongue. He could love her here forever.

But she needs more, and already he is beginning to feel the pain of staving off his own, selfish body. He tries to burn it away, thrusting against her hidden sex, but Rey stops him by reaching down and grasping him between his legs.

He freezes, as if she’d used the Force to petrify him. But that would not be this, the shooting desire that shatters through him at her curious touch.

He looks into her eyes. They stare widely at each other, shaken by this new boundary crossed. He pants, pressing himself into her hand, and feels her delicate finger trace along his length.

Now the stars in Kylo’s body are his own, shooting up and down with every hesitant caress. He can sense her care fading fast with his sanity. His head twitches and falls, bowing to the pleasure, and hair curtains his flushed cheeks from her sight. He watches her chest, enraptured by her excited pulse. If only his mind would work, he could peer inside and watch it beat for him, but for now he is left whining, hissing as her smart, nimble fingers yank his waistband to his thighs.

Just like that, he is exposed—a continuing trend with her he should have seen coming—and he flinches. But Rey does not hesitate, taking him in hand like no more than the lever of a shift. She engages him, and he can feel her in _his_ mind, following his old habits in the up and down stroke of her hot hand along his shaft.

 _“Rey,”_ he groans, fading fast in his race to catch his breath. He can feel himself climbing, expanding from her relentless pumping, the resounding slap of her loving fist against his stomach echoing in his ears. “Rey, Rey, oh, _Rey_ , more _… More!”_ He cries, bending back to thrust into her hand. She leans forward, running her tongue up from where his scar ends on his chest, brushing past the peak of his pectoral, following through to his jaw. The tender stroke of her tongue, matched against her ferocious attention to his weeping cock, has him keening.

“I had you on your knees, once,” she whispers against his neck, swiping her thumb over the head and smearing herself in his desire for her.

“Yes, yes, yes… _ah!_ ” he moans as she goes faster _._

“We could have killed each other.”

She’s killing him _now. But!_ “Never!” He roars, craning her head to suck her lip into his mouth, biting hard. The monster is close to the surface, blood hot and racing fast. He’s close, he’s close, but—he grabs her wrist, halting her movements, then the other, pinning them both above her head. He presses himself between her legs, the wet cloth chafing his aching hardness as he rocks over her hidden, tender, sensitive flesh. He finds her eyes, burning into them, honesty laced with every syllable. “Never,” he says again, intent and low with promise.

She nearly sobs, hands straining as she presses herself against him.

 _“Say it,”_ he commands, taking one of his hands back and curling the band of her final barrier in his fingers, tugging down ever so slightly.

Finding his eyes, wild and unfocused on anything but her own, their thoughts become one. An undeniable truth that this is where they belong.

“Never,” she relents, sighing as he—now released—tears the cloth apart in his bare hands, casting them away with a fling of his arms to leave her bare before him. In the back of his mind and second thoughts of his hands, he frees his legs from their confinement, sinking down to look at her.

Her scent hits him first, all heat and musk, and his cock twitches against the sheets with eagerness at the sight of her, swollen and pink. But he must be a patient hunter. She may have been wet by proof of the fabric, but he won’t be taking any chances.

“What are you doing?” she asks as she braces onto her arms, already knowing the answer.

He smiles again, all crooked, sharp teeth. Without a word, he presses his lips against the silken flesh, using his fingers to pull her open. Her mewling cries ripple through her, vibrating on his tongue. He moans in response, enjoying the tightness around it as he presses further inside of her. She tastes like she smells, the bittersweet tang of her body filling him with something more.

“Ben, Ben, I’m—”

Yes, yes, he can feel it building in her. He swipes faster, bringing his thumb to the small place where she needed him most when their clothes still existed. When _anything_ else existed. She keens, bucking up against his face. He catches her, grunting with the effort it takes to hold her still as she thrashes, chasing after something she doesn’t know.

With a synchronized thrust of tongue and hand, she twitches, flooding his mouth and ears with her cresting pleasure. He can feel it echoing under his skin, shimmering sparks and white-hot ecstasy through every inch of her.

It throbs even as he pulls away. He presses his palm to feel her, to hold her steady, cup and cradle her in warmth as she rides the aftershocks of her release. It was the right decision—her body, though sated, begs for _closeness_.

She holds out her arms, like a toddler begging to be held, and he fills them, peppering her neck with kisses. She burrows into his hair, against his throat, heart still hammering to a matching rhythm. Then she nods, kissing his lips despite any remaining taste, then his nose, his cheek, following the trail of his scar once more with her hot breath. Silently, she opens her legs again, shifting under his hand and wrapping them around his waist.

He removes his hand and replaces himself there, teasing as he had before. She gasps softly, hiding her flushed face in his shoulder. “So hard,” she whispers as his shaft flosses between her folds.

She doesn’t say she thinks it’s large, too, but he is satisfied regardless. He kisses her ear, readjusting himself. “For you,” he replies simply, thumb and fingers dancing over her body, teasing her breasts, trailing down her stomach, encircling her clit. As if knowing what’s coming, his cock twitches, seeking her.

Rey sees it, gaping with awe and _want._

He kisses her again before pulling away, forcing her head back into the pillows as he does. He hovers over her, arms quaking and forcing him to brace on his elbows. No matter, he is closer to her face this way, closer to her eyes. They pull into each other, searching for hesitance and fear where none exists. As he pushes himself inside of her, slowly enveloped by her throbbing heat, they find something else instead.

He grunts with the effort it takes not to become the monster that wants to plunge into her relentlessly. A vigorous battle wages in his own body, warring with more urgency than any conflict she’s uncovered in him. But he manages to push it down, baring his teeth and seating himself fully inside of her.

Rey’s eyes are wide, as if the secrets of the galaxy revealed themselves to her in the stretch of her walls, in the way he fills her so utterly. He can feel it, too—that sense of completion amongst the pleasure, the love in the fire. She takes in a breath, he can feel it shudder around his impatient cock, and nods for him to continue.

He knows that the first time is never preferable for women, at least, not without the proper care. Though a man of action, he can also be tactful. Perhaps that would help here, he realizes, as he pulls out to the tip and eases himself inside again, wedging her open.

She keens, eyes screwing shut as she focuses on her own war for pleasure. This is not the helplessness he likes, so he offers a hand, swirling his thumb over her tender bundle of nerves. She jumps like a wire, moaning her approval, and he continues in his languid, easy thrusts.

She’s so wet, coating his taught skin with her release. As his pubic bone brushes against hers, dark hair meeting darker, he swears he can see it shimmering, caught inside. He moans at the thought. “Rey,” he growls, drawing out her name as long and slow as his cock from her cunt. He brushes his nose against her cheek, free hand cupping her neck  as he continues to pleasure her with the other. There are no more words, only a name. Only her name.

She squeezes around him, clenching in a way that makes him gasp thrust faster to take advantage of her perfect, welcoming body. She moans, rather loudly, into the room, responding with the wicked thrust of her hips to meet him. “Ben, Ben, it feels— _mn_ , _ah!”_

She needn’t say more. He increases his pace, the slapping of his hips against her trembling thighs a chorus of pleasure in his ears. “Yes,” he barks, “yes, how does it feel? _Tell me,”_ he encourages low in her ear. He feels her quake under the weight of his voice, impossibly deep and coated in his desire for her.

Her head moves, a nod and a shake, thrashing against his bed, impossible knowledge on the tip of her tongue. “So good, it’s, oh!” He hits a tender patch inside of her, a ridged texture that leaves them breathless. _“There,_ faster, yes—there!” She cries, falling violently against the pillow.

Obedience has never been his strong suit, often full of fire and defiance, but her begging, the lilting pleasure of her voice, the sweet pressure of her around him… he cannot deny her this. He speeds up, the collision of their bodies matching them breath for breath, in and out, flesh and voices calling out to the other with an instinct so long suppressed.

He’s losing himself, his pleasure mounting. He tightens, feeling his body begin to react, and chases after it, pushing harder, rubbing faster to bring her with him. She sobs with the heat, with the sweat of his hair dripping onto her neck. He kisses her again, deep and hard like a crashing wave. He cannot leave her behind in this, will not allow her to be anything less than his equal.

This is more than a trade.

This is...

Soon enough, he feels her constrict around him, her voice pitched as she tries to call his name. She is left in whimpering through uneven breaths, holding his face to look into his eyes. Their pupils are wide, endless black swallowing their color. She kisses him, and his movements slow before picking up again. So close, so perfect, so _his._ “Rey, Rey, _Rey, Rey,”_ he snarls, grasping her hips to anchor himself, rocking into her as fast as he can.

He can feel the edges of his sight tighten, his lips draw from his teeth in a helpless cry of pleasure as his release finally surges from him, pulled out with a force that has him collapsing against her shoulder, eyes wet with unshed tears while gravity lowers him into her arms again.

From her hold on his face, the sensation of her around his neck, he feels her devotion, her unimaginable _love,_ burst through his mind and that is enough. Safe between her legs, cradled in her slowing heart, he is no monster, no man. Neither Kylo Ren nor Ben Solo.

Only Rey’s.

And all that implies.


	2. Dreams and Discipline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after all of the nice things you've said, consider it gasoline on the fire. So, in light of the new porn Rian Johnson blessed us with (i.e. bts footage of the space virgins holding hands—check Tumblr if you haven't seen it yet), have some smut~
> 
> There is a piece of this chapter inspired by the footage of Kylo (Driver) bouncing on his toes. Rather violently. What can I say? It gives a girl ideas.
> 
> Anyway, I think I may just deem this fic as a story in a "state of consistent completion", meaning any chapter could be the last, or could be updated. I'll leave that up to you. But... if this was better left a oneshot, please be honest. Thanks! *hugs*

When they wake it is somewhere new. A hidden place and found place, passing over them in waves.

He looks at her there, her head resting on his arm while the other encircles her, thumb mapping reverent trails along her waist. He stirs her awake in a way she likes. Being touched, to her, is something unknown. Another wonder for her wide eyes and yearning soul.

Dark lashes flutter open, squinting their frames as she smiles at him. His heart constricts in his chest, as bare to her as his skin, and he moves down to look closer, to lose himself.

Lose himself he does, as his hand abandons reverence for stillness and rest. His nose touches hers as he nuzzles into the soft of her cheek and kisses the corner of her lips in waking. She sighs, turning her head to capture him again, and sink closer against his body. As she burrows between the pillow and his chin, pressing her mouth against his neck, he shudders and squeezes the loose skin at the wing of her shoulderblade. “Comfortable?” He murmurs, voice low and warped by sleep.

She shivers as his breath ghosts past her ear, but only kisses his neck in reply, taking the flesh between her teeth.

Were he in the right frame of mind, he would chuckle at her forwardness, and even more so at the shy hesitance still hiding there beneath her teeth. But he is not—still crawling out of the pit of sleep. With her beside him, balance reigned in his mind for the first night in years, laying him gently down where he belongs.

So, as a man in his helplessness, he gasps.

It’s a deep, low sound, pitched with want that has her shifting closer. He can already feel himself slipping, losing control to her teasing bites and occasional suckle. The coolness of her lips, the heat of her wet mouth closing over him has him thinking about _not_ thinking—a dangerous game.

She throws her leg around him beneath the covers, caressing his aching groin. His cock swells as she sucks harder, higher, under his jaw, laving over the skin with her tongue. _“Rey—”_ he sighs, gushing under her fierce ministrations. His face is hot, spreading south to his chest. His hips jut forward to meet her, but he misses and collides with the soft flesh of her thigh, instead.

That will not do. Blood boiling, his free hand roves up and down the side of her body, squeezing and pulling her closer to him. When he latches on behind her knee she bites down, hard, onto the joint of his shoulder and he moans, craning back to let her take whatever she wants as he pulls her flush against him.

Now she is the one left gasping as he fits himself between her legs. There is urgency here, a flowing need that consumes them both in fire and fury. Feeling confident, she rolls her hips, stroking him with the slippery heat of her body. His eyes roll back in his skull and he nearly sobs; surely he is dreaming—none of this is true. How could it be, with the way she looks at him? As if she truly wants him in this way, not only in a night of straying passions and wandering rage?

Suddenly, her hand abandons its lingering post on his chest as she grips his shoulder, pushing until she is hovering over him. Her lips are flushed and parted and he longs to see what work she has done to him with them. But that can wait. The curtain of her hair is rustled as it drapes over her cheeks, narrowing his sight until she is all he sees is her smoldering eyes. “Say it,” she growls.

He blinks. “It.”

Groaning, she presses down on both of his shoulders. The action slides her against his throbbing cock, making him jolt and grab her waist. Though every instinct screams for him to shift her until they are one again, he is caught in her eyes and waits.

Rey nearly smirks, no doubt sensing his turmoil, and suddenly his body is forced into stillness. He cannot move from his hold on her. Nothing but his eyes. He watches helplessly as she leaves his sight, her hair tickling his chest as she licks, long and slow and wet and _hot,_ up his neck until she reaches that tender spot below his ear.

It feels like torture, the way she won’t let him touch her, the way she teases. If his lungs would work, he may have screamed. But he can’t. He remains still, simply _feeling_ as she laves the shell of his ear with her tongue, making him hiss and growl low in his throat. She’s in his mind, again, following the trail of his body even _he_ has not yet mapped.

Her hands travel along the sparks, lighting like beacons as she uses her power. His own mind is against him as she trails the tip of her finger from his sternum to the gathering hair below his navel, guided by his unknown wishes.

He tries to shift, to hold her beyond the steady grip of her hips, to no avail. He is caught, prone and vulnerable to her. She rocks against him again, smearing his shaft with her arousal, and releases his earlobe to moan pointedly against his cheek. “Ben… I want to hear you say it.”

Even if he wanted to, he can’t speak. The apple of his throat bobs powerlessly, weak against her stubborn hold over it. He can sense it in her mind, then, see in the mischievous corners of her eyes that she intends to torture him. He keeps his gaze on her, and hers on his, as she sits up and removes the sheet. It falls from her shoulders like a discarded cloak, drifting onto his knees as she adjusts herself between his hips, trapping him in the firm hold of her thighs.

Supported only by the pillow on his neck, Kylo is made level with the gorgeous plain of her stomach, but able to take in _all_ of her from this new, glorious angle. Her pert breasts rise and fall with her every breath, their aroused peaks teasing him with their inviting, flush color. They beg to be grasped, to be sucked and worshiped, but he is strapped upon her altar, a sacrifice restrained. A feast to a hungry goddess.

Her fingers tease him. Up and down her hands glide, their soft-yet-fading calloused tips scratching and soothing the ants crawling beneath his burning flesh.

Though he cannot speak, and barely think, perhaps he could still convey what she wants. His dark eyes, blown wide and black, dig into hers and she jars, mouth gaping open as she is assaulted with an old fantasy.

_Her legs are around him and squeezing hard. He has her against the wall, their clothes discarded somewhere in the hall, as he thrusts into her. He bucks, power streaming from his legs to the balls of his feet, and she bounces violently, her body falling loose as her walls tighten more and more. He covers her mouth so no one but him will hear her scream, muttering vague promises and threats he doesn’t mean. She’s so good, so tight, so wet for him. She makes him mad with want, with need, with love._

Rey blinks, back into herself again, and a new fury shrouds her eyes. There is no hazel anymore, only the way this madness has consumed them both.

She pulls away from his cock and he nearly groans from the loss, until her hand is wrapped around him. In a show of power, she releases him only there, and his body makes use of it, twitching valiantly against her vise. She squeezes a harsh warming, and in his mind there is a mighty struggle between his yearning for freedom and the insistent press of her mind holding him down.

He watches her as she watches him, as she pulls the loose skin of his shaft over his head and down again, taking her time. A bead of white crests from the tip of his pulsing, angry arousal and she smiles at him. “You can think those words all you want,” she says, twisting him and making his vision blur. “But I won’t let you go until I know you’ll say it.”

Oh, how things have changed. Where he once was in such control, she leaves him helpless. Perhaps this was her plan all along—the reason why she took his hand, took his heart, took his body.

But no, she never took anything he didn’t already give.

No matter how much better she deserves, he knows he must give her this, too.

She pumps him harder, her smaller hand sliding along that tender vein at the base of his cock, and he manages a shallow breath in, in, in. She grunts, as if this is not fast enough, and wets her bottom lip. He senses an idea sparkle at the primal epicenter of her mind, and watches captivatedly as she slips a hand between her legs and returns it, soaking wet, around his shaft.

That does it. _Rey! Rey, release me—unleash me, let me go!_

She giggles. “Your thoughts were so fuzzy… I thought you’d never break through,” she muses, but does not listen to him. Instead, she lowers her face until her lips press against the slit of his head, her smart tongue peeking out to taste him.

_Ah… ah…_

Pulling her tongue back into her mouth, she considers for a moment, stroking him lazily—as if he were only an afterthought. A habit of the hands. “It’s kind of sweaty. Hot and sticky…”

When he realizes what she’s taking about, his eye twitches. Desire is overtaking him again, leaving him a mess of mangled nerves and noises, mind screaming for more of her and the freedom to touch. His hands are still frozen in the air, devoid of her and empty of meaning when they cannot _grasp, caress, squeeze, pull, please—_

She lowers her mouth on him again, licking from the base to the tip in a trail of fire that makes his veins quake beneath her strong grasp on his body. He fights it—oh, how he tries, but his flesh betrays him and he is powerless to do what he wants beyond sending her more of what he dreams.

_His hands, so large against her head, cradle her. When she nods he tugs her little mouth along his shaft, his hips rocking to meet her until there are tears in her eyes. She stays strong, so strong, and not once does she reject him. She is as she always has been. Perfect._

Encouraged by his vision, she attempts to take him in. However… he’s aware of his height, his truly monstrous stature and the way it follows through beyond the size of his hands. But she is clever, and resourceful, using her hand to stroke up, up, up against where her lips close down around him, making up for uncovered ground.

He could die a happy man like this, but would pass on unfulfilled. He can feel himself tighten, the inevitability of her beauty and attentions rising closer to the surface, and it’s a sudden terror that he will leave her alone. It helps him break through the thin veil of thought. _Rey, Rey, release me. Let me inside of you. I love you. Let me love you…!_

Her mouth comes free of him, a tantalizing mix of her spit and his arousal following after her lips, and he feels as his body trembles out of her hold.

Finally free, he lurches up, grasping at her arms and pulling her into his to kiss her. His tongue travels over hers, the taste of them coating his tongue, as he feels the heat of her skin so long left to him untouchable. He can feel her losing consciousness from lack of air, and for a moment he almost lets it be so, but he knows that such things can wait. He breaks away from her lips, staying close to feel her steal a breath, and holds her face and eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers. His voice stays soft, quiet, as he strokes her flushed cheeks with his thumbs. “I may not know how, but I do. I do.” He kisses her again, one for each lip, top to bottom and back.

She wraps her arms around his neck, holding him close, and he does the same, relishing the soft swells of her breasts against his chest and the long length of her back, mapping over every ridge with his fingers and palms.

In her silence, in the heat and stillness, her legs have found their place astride his hips. She is almost in his lap, and he sighs as her dripping arousal dangles low enough to meet his aching cock. It drizzles and slides a trail down towards his abdomen and he thinks he may faint from the impossibility of it all.

Squeezing her bottom, massaging it gently to feel her mind muddle beneath such a simple touch, he presses his lips to her ear and growls, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Rey? The truth? I’ve only ever told you the truth.”

She nods, lowering herself onto the head of his cock. He whines, thrusting up, but not all the way, to feel her walls embrace him.

The smell of her sex is overpowering. He looks into her eyes, hypnotized by the sheer joy he finds there, and brushes a hair away from her lip. “I’m going to love you. I’m never going to stop.”

Shaking her head, she kisses his lips with a gentleness he hasn’t seen since her eyes opened. “Don’t stop,” she urges, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing him back onto the mattress.

Readjusting against the sheets, he palms her thighs and holds tightly to her waist, helping her slide fully onto him. He moans with the relief, the tension coiling low in his belly. Mouth hanging open from a jaw that refuses to close, his eye twitches with satisfaction. “I’m going to make love to you,” he promises lowly, lifting her up and forcing her down again, keeping her gaze all the while.

“Yes,” she gasps.

He pulls her up again, almost all the way off, and holds her there. “Every day.”

“Yes!” she cries as he pulls her back down.

Muscles aching and tired, Kylo stops with his slow efforts and retreats into a ferocious rhythm. He rocks up and into her, thrusting hard and fast. His voice bounces with him as he matches her in volume. “Oh, f— _augh!_ Rey, you’re so good, so _good!”_

Trapped atop him, Rey can only nod as her thoughts abandon her. “Faster, faster,” she keens, hands fisting on his shoulders as her breasts jostle violently from his relentless efforts. “Please, Ben… _Ben!”_

“Yes, yes, _anything,”_ he chants, moving faster, harder, enough to send his head rocking back with the momentum. The bed is shaking, ramming against the wall in time with their slapping skin—a chorus of sound in this carnal serenade. Her walls tighten, slippery and hot, sending spikes of pleasure cascading through him. “I love you,” he snarls. “I l— _uh!”_

He’s cut off by her, the way her body shudders and clamps down around him, the gushing current of her sliding down his shaft as he continues to buck. He feels wild, free, as he presses inside. Stretching his hand, his thumb finds her and he swirls, pressing hard. She cries out and he can feel the phantom fire of his touch inside of her, sending her into some distant part of her brain that can only think in terms of _more._

She falls apart again within seconds, and takes him with her as he pulls her down atop him, seated fully and draining within her body as he hisses, crooked teeth bearing against any force that tries to take this away from him.

When the light behind his eyes fades and the intensity of his release becomes a quiet, consoling throbbing, he feels her crash down on his chest. The smell of her sweat and the sun that’s never left her wafts into him, and his heart hammers under the warmth of her cheek. He pulls her hair from her face carefully, sensing within her the desire for him to remain where he is, and obeys.

It feels like someplace new again. Hidden and found once more beyond the veil of thought and speech. He repositions them, cradles her close and keeps her leg over his waist as he softens inside of her. The cooling trail of their love slips and sticks at the creases, but he doesn’t care. Mind muddled, he could sleep again, and when she looks into his eyes, he knows that no dream could ever compare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hello on Tumblr! @avidvampirehunter. Also, if you're in the mood for a slow burn, feel free to check out Not Unlike a Star. A new chapter will be posted soon.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> avidvampirehunter


	3. Captives and Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consistent completion continues. Rey and Ben wake in each other's arms, and we learn Rey's perspective on all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mindless smut. With feelings~

Time exists without the sun.

Nothing rises or sets here. Nothing breathes besides her, and him, and their mattress springs.

Yet Rey is certain it’s morning, as his mind is quiet and their skin content. Her naked back feels warm against his chest, sunlight in its own way, the in and out of his ribs, his sternum, his flesh, awakens something more.

With his arms locked around her body, Rey doesn’t bother moving, allowing her thoughts to race in circles. Memories and flashes, phantom movement between her legs that haunt in the slurring patterns dreams often do. Eyes in the dark, words whispered and cried, a face closer than any face has been before.

She doesn’t know what came over her, yet fear remains at bay. It all happened so quickly—the sensation of his despair rippling through her body, her feet bringing her to him, his eyes and the way they always  _ want. _

And she wanted, too. Was it so wrong to do, to want something for oneself? Long to give something only given once?

She’d held it away for so long. Taken small touches he was willing to give, given what she could. He lives as a storm. A ship battered in the waves of impossible circumstance. She can feel it. Like an invisible chord, her thoughts pluck along the tender sinews and pull her in until she is consumed by the awesome strength of his emotions.

How deep a well he’s dug, that she has fallen into. A headlong dive into darkness, rich and sweet as the sliding pads of his fingertips.

He stirs, groaning, and the movement grants Rey an acute awareness of  _ him,  _ pressed against her tailbone. The contact there is hot enough to threaten, enough to spread. She wonders if he dreamt, or if he only remembered. Or if, like her, he wished.

The tip of his nose caresses the soft skin behind her ear, brushing away her hair to make room for the gentle bite at her flesh. “You’re here,” he whispers.

Rey smiles, thrilled and shaken by the deep resonance of his voice, the way it seizes every vein from the flush of their bodies. It rumbles through her and she turns—as best as she can—to see his face. Black hair, ruffled by more than sleep, lies strewn along his cheek and she wants to touch it. So she does, reaching to cup his jaw and stroke its gentle slope. “I’m here,” she affirms.

His eyes wander from her lips to her eyes and, oh, from this angle he seems less like a sunrise, and more like a moon. Pale and cold yet captivating, looking back at her in the dark. Following every move with a strange sentience that leaves her breathless.

Then his love swells in her mind. She has a distant memory of love—of warmth. But now she knows that was never true. Fabrications of what love  _ should  _ be, never what  _ was _ .

Here, in his arms and in his mind, where he lets her roam freely, she bathes in the intangible warmth. When she felt it last night—or two nights ago, she can’t be sure anymore—for the first time, he seized with terror.  _ Fear.  _ He was afraid of her. Or, at least, of what she would do once she knew.

He had no idea of her feelings. She realized that, next. That this whole time was once long path, diverging, ships meeting in the night that would part if she let go. But he is a harbor, desolate and alone, bobbing on the waves of an ocean she’s never seen. Waiting patiently in the dark.

His patience has reached an end, it seems, as he presses closer to her, pulls her tight. She sighs in welcome as his mouth unites with hers, his contended noises combating shuffling legs under sheets. Ocean waves. Shifting sand. Desert heat. Pooling warmth and rival chill. It all passes through her, one by one, like his arms loosening to allow for wandering hands.

She hooks onto his neck, his chest still trapped against her back, and gasps. The endless din of sleep, of rest, made her forget how loudly her body  _ roars.  _ She can feel his lips against the back of her neck, standing every fine hair for his inspection, as his hands do the same. One trails along her thigh, encompassing all of it and squeezing, as the other hooks between her legs.

“Ben—!”

The hand at her leg slides along her waist, taking her breast in his hand. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say my name, just like this?” He squeezes harder, making her jolt as the other hand moves in steady circles.

He reaches places she didn’t know she’d want, making her knees knock and twitch. “How, how long?” she pants, curiosity parting the gossamer curtains of desire shrouding her thoughts.

But he doesn’t answer her beyond the tender swirls along her sensitive skin, the sensations rippling and crashing against one another. His thumb, larger the closer it is, strokes over the thatch of hair and makes her blush. And in that one touch she senses it: he has wanted this since the moment he was born. A closeness, an intimacy to rival all others without any hope of being championed. Something tangible, his mind screams, someone to love and be loved by.

His mind is a torrent of many things. Anger. Rage. Fear. Loneliness. Longing. And now love fights for a place among them, elbowing, crashing through in a brashness only Ben could manage. In his thoughts, beneath his skin, she has come to realize he was always this way, and that darkness never truly consumed him.

Ben was always…

Her body is getting closer, his hands pushing her onto the edge, waiting for her to relent and go limp—to fall. But she squeezes his neck, tilting back to kiss him soundly. Oh,  _ Force,  _ it’s an amazing sensation, one she’s never known! In the black of her closed eyes she can feel the life in him, the sensual slip of his tongue in her mouth, the hungry moans coaxed low in his throat whenever she meets him there. 

The grip of emblazoned passion sweeps over her, jutting her forward into his hand, eagerly accepting him. She can see it bloom in his mind—his satisfaction in such a simple thing, the strange pleasure shared between them from the link of lips and thoughts. 

He doesn’t stop encircling her, following a path she cannot see and gaining speed. There is fury, yet no malice, in his affections now. He breaks away, breathing hard and hot against her neck, while the other hand pulls her leg back and over his waist, opening her to him.

Her arousal has already begin to pool on the sheets, and the scent of them both wafts into her heavy inhalations. But there is no time to consider that now. Not here, in neither daylight nor darkness, when he finds his way inside of her again.

A deep, gasping moan escapes him, shooting down her spine and bursting into the room. It’s her favorite sound, one she cannot help but emulate as his hard, throbbing length pumps through her hidden skin. Rey can feel his face snagged in her hair, his breath pushing and pulling strands with each rhythmic thrust, and when he whimpers her name she all but melts around him with a silent cry.

Her body is forced forward, the shock of her release bending at her spine, but still he doesn’t slow. He turns, landing her breathlessly on her stomach, and his weight sinks her against the mattress. The smell of them both is stronger, here, muddling every thought yet amplifying touch.

Ben slows, his hand abandoning the sensitive throb of her clit to join the other’s mission at her waist. Suddenly she becomes aware of her position—moreso than before—and growls at his lack of movement and the rush of excitement plummeting through her.

This seems to surprise him, and she catches his open, expressive face. This time it is wild, yet restrained. In their earlier… efforts, his mind was messy. Blurry, in a way, as his focus was primarily on her body and, to her great affection, how best to appease it. He is halfway in that state now, but the rest is something else. Wild. Intimate. Carnal.

And she  _ wants  _ it.

“Yes,” she hisses, pushing herself along his shaft. He releases a puff of breath from his flushed lips, watching her with an awe that sings in her veins. This feeling, this  _ control,  _ how could she ever want anything less?

His large hands slide along her sides, squeezing the soft flesh in a silent plea. Ben shares with her, in the blaze of his eyes and the prodding of his relentless lust, that he doesn’t want to hurt her.

Rey barely restrains a scoff, and closes her eyes, laying her head down and nodding a smiling approval. 

He doesn’t hesitate, careening forward and resuming his passionate throes. The bones of his hips collide with her rear, the resounding slap of skin picking up speed alongside his animalistic panting. 

Gasping, Rey soaks in all she can. The feeling of being pushed against the soft pillows, the trembling in her thighs, the striking  _ strength  _ and depth of each new experience. She likes it this way—oh, “ _ Mn, ah,  _ ah,  _ Ben!”  _ she grounds, coming closer.

He lowers himself from his knees, bowing them both down into the mattress, effectively pinning her there. “Yes,  _ yes,”  _ he hisses. “You’re  _ mine _ . Say you’re _ mine!” _

She sobs dryly against the schwelching slickness between her legs, managing a nod.

He goes faster, chasing something, mind blank and words flowing free. “Oh,  _ Rey.  _ So good, so  _ good,  _ all mine,  _ ah—!”  _

There’s a twitch inside of her, a different angle that makes her jolt with the electric shock. He’s gone somewhere else, a place in her body she never knew, and she snags him by the loose thread of his unraveling sanity. “Right there, Ben, harder— _ please!” _

He obeys, continuing with the same angle that has him pressing her down even further. She’s become a captive again, worshiped and relished like a queen, and for the faintest moment they do not have names. They do not rise or set. Only breathe and love, just like this.

One of his hands snakes between Rey and the sheet, cradling her closer as the other covers her own, intertwining their fingers. Even like this, his tenderness remains.

He huffs through his nose, unable to speak through the mess of his lungs, and his pace grows erratic, finding new angles as Rey focuses on his mind. Inside her name screams along every wall, making her shudder as release finds her again.

It’s enough. The contraction of her body captures him, and he grunts with the effort of filling her. The surging warmth continues, his arms and hands trembling. It reminds her of the night before, the way his hands always shook when he touched her.

She whispers his name as he collapses beside her, still holding on with one arm as he slips away, pulling her close to him. With effort, Rey manages to push him onto his back, laying over his cooling-damp chest as his arms wind around her.

Then he kisses her. The crown of her head, her sweaty hairline, her brow, the tip of her nose, her mouth, her cheek, all of her face as he pushes each strand away for a better angle. She closes her eyes, smiling at his sweet touches that would have never seemed possible before now.

When she opens them, he is there. And it’s all the light she’ll ever need.

  
  



End file.
